No Respectable Man
by Crazed Fuzzle
Summary: They said no respectable man would marry Sarra's bastard. So what will they think when the girl and her future husband are forced to return to Snowsdale?
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: Although I once had the opportunity to interview Tamora Pierce, sadly none of her books belong to me (well, I own copies of the books, but you get the picture). I can only hope that I have not disgraced them.

A/N: This is my first attempt at a Tortall fic, so (at risk of making myself sound like a newbie) (which I'm not, I might add) I would truly appreciate any (constructive) criticism you have to offer. My apologies for the shortness, but I promise that all future chapters will be much, much longer; I simply had to get everything set up.

Prologue

They had intended to reach the River Drell (and thus one particular village that sat next to the river) by nightfall. It was cold in the mountains, especially at night, and _especially_ in the winter. However, a herd of killer unicorns had other plans, and the village they'd attacked had enlisted the aid of the two mages and consequently set hem back to only a few hours of traveling time. As a result, as the sun began to sink they found themselves in the middle of nowhere with no end in sight.

Their business in Galla was unusual. Normally they stayed in Tortall; but their allies had requested that one or the other of them (they'd not expected both, but rarely was the one without the other if they could help it) to attend a rather prestigious mages' summit, and King Jonathon had encouraged them to go, so they had complied. Now Daine was beginning to regret it; it seemed she had picked up a cold somewhere along the line, which such a long time outside in the cold had done nothing to help.

"Magelet, are you certain you're well enough to be traveling?" Numair asked with concern as she sneezed explosively, then swayed in the saddle as she tried to regain her balance.

"Whether I am or not, there's little sense in us stopping now," she pointed out. "We can't spend the night in the open, not this time of year."

"There must be _some_ village nearby where we can spend the night," was the cool answer. "We've no reason to hurry back to Tortall, after all."

If it's all the same to you, I'd rather not stop at any village near here, Daine's grey mountain pony put in. They have no respect for us, and their oats taste bad.

"I agree, Cloud," the girl replied to her mount. To her companion, she explained "We'd best keep going; people in these parts are none too friendly to strange mages."

Numair sighed. "Well, if you're that determined, I suppose there's no sense in arguing with you. Just don't push yourself too hard; I'm no healer, and I have a feeling neither of us will be terribly happy if you get yourself sicker."

"Don't be silly, Numair. I know my own… my own…" Daine's vision swam before her eyes, and she blinked rapidly to clear it. "…my own limi—" The statement was completed with a soft thud. The lanky man turned to see his beloved sprawled in the snow, unconcious.

Three strides was all it took to reach her and scoop her up, three more to return to his gelding and place the young woman in the saddle before him. He turned once, briefly, to inform Cloud "You'd best be able to keep up," and then was off, driving Spots the gelding towards what he hoped was the nearest town for all he was worth.


	2. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I would like to claim the world of Tortall and its inhabitants as my own, but I have to do the right thing, save the world, protect the downtrodden, blah blah, woof woof.

A/N: I should never have mentioned that interview, should I? I suppose I wanted to gloat a little. It wasn't face to face; it was via e-mail, for a school project a couple of years ago. She's really rather nice if you want to use the address on her site.

Just so you know, this takes place in the gap between "Lady Knight" and "Trickster's Choice." Daine would be about 25 or thereabouts, if I'm remembering correctly.

Okay, I've been paranoid about whether people are being OOC, so if they are, I beg of you, let me know what I can do to make it better.

Chapter 1

Snowsdale received few visitors, so when that strange man had ridden in the previous night, it had caused quite a disruption. He had been galloping as hard as his mount would let him, and the instant he reached the inn had sent for a healer. Bayard the innkeeper had sent one of his stableboys, and then went about the difficult task of finding out exactly what was going on.

Bayard was by nature a curious—some might have gone so far as to say nosy—man. However, the arrival of a frantic man and unconscious young woman in the middle of the night during the season in which no one in their right mind would be traveling would be enough to pique anyone's curiosity. So as Bayard served them, he had tried to squeeze every detail out of the lanky man, but his mouth had remained determinedly shut. He was sure it had not been intentional; it was obvious that the man was worried to no end about his young companion, and had little room in his mind for much else.

He had seen very little of the girl herself—not much besides a fleeting impression of smoky brown curls and a soft, pale face—but what he could recall rang a distant bell in his memory, though for the life of him could not recall why. It was unimportant though; he had every intention of finding out, and soon.

The healer returned fairly swiftly, living in the village so as to be more easily accessible. His diagnosis of the girl had been almost equally swift: pneumonia. The man, his name now have been given as Numair Salmalin, seemed none the better for the knowledge, and had begged the healer to do all he could before being sent away for being a nuisance. Now the man fretted before the fireplace, the common room having been abandoned by the everyday customers hours ago. Bayard saw his opportunity, and took it.

"Would ye be carin' for a drink, Master Salmalin?" inquired the innkeeper, knowing alcohol to be the best conversation starter.

"Thank you, but no," was his reply. "I fear my disposition would be all the worse for the consumption of much of anything at the moment." A sophisticated gentleman, this one, with his fancy language and fine clothes. If he played his cards right, he might get a handsome tip from this one.

"Some company, then," he said, leaving no room for protest. "From where does ye hail?"

"From Tortall, originally," was the somewhat distracted response. "We are returning from a … a matter of business up north." Bayard congratulated himself on a job well done—this man was both a businessman and a Tortallan, almost guaranteed to have pockets full of money. Before he could respond to this knowledge, Master Salmalin was talking once more.

"May I ask the name of this most accommodating town of yours?" he inquired, although Bayard got the distinct impression that his mind was still elsewhere—with the girl, probably.

"Ye may, sir," Bayard allowed, pleased at Numair's good impression of his home. "Snowsdale, sir."

The tall man looked up sharply, his attention apparently entirely recalled and his eyes seeming to spark with energy. "I'm sorry, I'm not certain I heard you correctly. You _did_ say Snowsdale, did you not?"

"I did, Master Salmalin," the innkeeper replied, puzzled at this strange reaction. He was more puzzled still as the man sank into a chair, eyes wide in a mixture of shock and horror.

"Mithros, Mynoss, and Shakith," he breathed, distress shaping his voice, "what have I done?"

Daine woke feeling awful—not quite as awful as she remembered, but still awful. What was more, she had not the foggiest idea of where she was. Her eyes passed over the room that surrounded her—immaculate, clean, and obviously not been inhabited by Numair for any significant length of time. Of course, if this was an inn as she guessed it was, her companion might have rented an adjoining room, just to save her some of the respect he believed she deserved. She didn't particularly care, but he was insistant that maintaining an appearance of chastity was crucial whilst traveling in foreign lands, so she humored him to the best of her abilities. Besides, she had noted the care with which he said "appearance" of chastity.

It wasn't long before the subject of her thoughts entered the room, and the moment he noticed her eyes open he rushed to her side in such a caricature of a star-crossed lover that she couldn't help but laugh. The sound, however, quickly turned into a cough as her tortured lungs rebelled.

"Are you alright?" he asked, helping her to sit up so that she wouldn't choke.

"As well as can be expected from someone who feels as though she's trying to breathe underwater," she allowed, leaning back against the pillows Numair had propped against the headboard.

"That would be the pneumonia," he informed her from his perch on the edge of her bed. "The healer did his best, but something like this can't be cured in a day. If I recall his words correctly, 'the rest is in the hands of the Green Lady,'" he quoted with an ironic smile that Daine mirrored. The expression soon faded, though.

"Magelet, what did you think you were trying to prove? You scared Cloud and me near to death with that stunt of yours. You should have told us if you were that sick!"

"I'd've told you if I'd known I _was_ this sick," the invalid snapped back. "In any case, I still would have had pneumonia, and we'd have been in just the same position."

"No, we wouldn't." Numair stood and began pacing across the room in irritation. "You would have been able to _rest _and _not_ have passed out in the snow, and we wouldn't _be_ in this mess."

"I'd hardly call it a mess, Numair," she remarked. "A cold isn't the end of the world, and it's not as though we've a need to be anywhere."

"It's not _just_ a cold, it's pneumonia," the black-robe corrected agitatedly. He ran his hands through his hair, a nervous habit she had become well acquainted with through the years. "And that wasn't what I was referring to."

"Then what _were_ you referring to?" There was no response. "Numair, what aren't you telling me?"

The man stopped his frantic pacing and sighed. He ran his hand through his hair once more before coming to kneel next to her bed.

"You must understand, Daine. You were Mithros knew how sick, and I was helpless. I had to get you help."

Daine made a face. "All this dancing around will help you as much as flapping your arms will help you fly. I'm fair tired of surprises, and putting it off will only vex me more."

One more sigh, then an apologetic smile.

"Magelet, we're in Snowsdale."


	3. Chapter 2

Disclaimers: I'm sick and tired of these stupid things, 'cuz whoever thinks I own the Wild Magic series is an idiot.

A/N: I never expected that I'd update so soon, but I couldn't stop writing. This is the first fanfiction I've written like this; all my other multi-chapter attempts I have to have planned out down to the last detail, but this one I'm just putting down whatever first comes to mind. Thus the chapters are shorter, but much more frequent, and a lot more fun for me to write. You shouldn't get used to this fast updating thing, just so you know. Pretty soon I'll be much too swamped in homework to so much as touch a keyboard, let alone write fanfiction. But enjoy it while you can! (I know I am)

Chapter 2

Daine's insides were roiling. She was in Snowsdale. Snowsdale. Her mind refused to wrap around that single fact. She had been alone for quite some time—though she knew not how much—and her mind had yet to calm. It seemed quite impossible that she should found herself here after more than a decade of freedom, impossible that the man she loved was the one that had brought her here.

She had been mad at Numair at first, but the emotion hadn't lasted long. How could she be angry with him? He had done what he thought was best at the time, in an attempt to help her. He had been worried for her. He could not have known that this was where they would end up. She could not blame him for something that was not his fault; instead she directed her anger at herself, anger for not realizing that they were this close until it was too late, anger for not saying anything once she had, and even anger for being sick enough that they had needed to stop. No, she had been upset, but she had not sent Numair from the room from fury, though by now he was probably of that opinion and feeling wretched. He could wait a bit longer, though. For now, she needed to cope with the other emotions coursing through her.

Anger was not the half of it. More prominent than anything was the old fear, a fear that she thought she had left behind years ago. It was the terror of being chased by those that she had once trusted, that now that she was in reach they would turn on her and finish the job they had started so long ago. It was the dread of losing herself once more, no matter what Numair said about the barrier he had created between her and her magic. It was the fear of what the villagers would think of her, what she had become, what she did, and of somehow doing something wrong. It was not anger but fear that kept her shut up in this small room in the inn, not daring to set a foot outside of it.

The Wildmage bit her lip and walked on unsteady legs over to the window, opening the shutter despite the winter chill that drifted in. It was the same old village all right, ten years not seeming to have changed it but slightly. There were the dilapidated houses of those that lived in the village itself, although most of those that dwelled here lived on farms. There was the same tree that she had once climbed to look upon a nest of baby birds. There was the same street with the same ruts. Everything exactly as she had left it.

A sudden spot of cold on the back of her hand caused her to jerk up, until she realized that it had only been the silver badger's claw that hung around her neck. She closed a hand around it. The village may not have changed, but she certainly had, and the token that she kept so dear was a reminder of this. She was no longer a pitiful, fatherless whelp whose only notable quality was a knack with animals and a fair hand with a bow. She had met her father, she had developed her magic and her soul, had befriended some of the most influential people in the realm and walked with gods, had found the love that these people had assured her she would never be worthy of. She had changed, and she was going to start acting like it.

Newfound determination giving her strength, Daine found a clean pair of breeches and a pale blue tunic that was just nice enough that it would not be mistaken for that of a mere peasant girl. While conversing with a pair of blue-jays that had lighted on the windowsill, she used the mirror above the washstand to help gain some control over her unruly brown curls, and splashed water on her face. If she was going to face down the demons of her past, she knew that she would want to look her absolute best. She had learned long ago that a good appearance did wonders for a girl's self-confidence.

When Daine appeared in the common room downstairs minutes later, Numair was sitting in a chair, staring deep into the fireplace with his forehead creased in thought. She leaned against the doorframe and was content to watch him for just a few moments. She didn't know what she would do if he wasn't here with her right now, although he wasn't aware of her presence at the moment.

Someone else had become aware of her presence, however, and a sudden weight against her legs caught her by surprise. Looking down, she laughed softly at the hunting dog eagerly awaiting her attention, and knelt. She fondled his ears and accepted another washing of her face with patience and love. This dog was too young to have known her before, but both parties were more than willing to make up for this lost time. Her mind was entirely occupied by her new acquaintance when a soft voice spoke into her ear, startling her.

"Magelet, you shouldn't be up and about yet." Even without the endearment, she would have known that voice anywhere. "You still haven't recovered all the way yet, and unless you want to get sick again and stay here even longer, you need rest." She turned her head to give him a stern look, although her arms were still occupied by Shield, as the dog had proclaimed his name to be.

"Numair, if I'm to face these people again, I'm not going to wait in bed until they realize who I am," she told him with a tone that meant business, although she was glad that he had crouched beside her so she wouldn't have to crane her neck. "I'm going to stand up and meet them on my own two feet, and you can either stand behind me or not, but I need to do this on my terms. Otherwise, I don't know that I can handle this." The last sentence was said as a whisper, with her eyes averted.

The warmth that had comforted her when Numair crouched beside her faded, and she soon found a hand held out in her line of vision. She took it, and never once broke eye contact with him as he helped her to stand. As soon as she was stable, he placed one hand on either shoulder and leaned close to her.

"Daine, I will always stand behind you," he uttered softly but intensely. "I'm just worried that with all this on you, getting sick again will be too much. Just promise me that if you start to feel too ill again, you'll let me know."

"You're making a fuss over nothing," she informed him as she allowed herself to be steered over to the fire where her former teacher had been occupied when she had first come down.

"Since when have I not fussed over you?" the tall man wanted to know, but his jesting tone soon turned serious once more. "Just promise me, Daine."

She sighed in exasperation, but gave in. "I can see I'll get no peace about it if I don't, so I suppose I have no choice," she teased. It was odd to act so lighthearted while her stomach seemed to have wound itself into a tight ball of anxiety.

"None whatsoever," Numair agreed with a smile, and sat in the chair next to the one she had selected for herself. They fell into a relieved sort of conversation, each feeling considerably better now that things between them had been resolved, and unwilling to speak of the problem hand in fear of ruining that comfort, however temporary. Daine mused on the strangeness of the circumstances as they talked. It was almost beyond belief, that she would find herself and her lover talking as per usual in the inn of Snowsdale with hardly a thought to where they were. More than once she began to ask herself if it might not be just a strange dream or nightmare, but she rejected that idea to be too good to be true. Besides, despite what she might say to Numair, she felt too poorly for this not to be real. She was exceedingly grateful for the fire before her, fending off both the chill that was typical of the season and that which was brought on by her sickness.

Her eyes wandered as the two of them talked, taking in the large room. She had little use for the inn when she had lived here, seeing as it mainly served as the source of alcohol in the little town. However, that did not mean that she was not well acquainted with the wooden tables and chairs that filled a great deal of the room, and the counter that the old bar- and inn-keep Bayard had conducted all business from. She wondered if he was still here, or if they had replaced him with one of his sons. Knowing him and his taste for gossip, she doubted it; the man was stubborn when it came to the management of his source of income, too much so to give it over to anyone else unless it became absolutely necessary.

She recognized the three other occupants of the room, although it was obvious that they either did not recognize or notice her. The maid was a decent sort, a girl that she had occasionally played with when she was younger. There were two men at a table, drinking. One of them was the miller, apparently taking a day off work; the other was one of the farmers that had been notorious for his drinking when Daine had known him. Things really had changed little, she realized with a jolt. The landscape was one thing; the villagers were creatures of habit, and she supposed that the village had looked as it had for time out of mind. But to see how much the people still seemed the same was completely another; but for a little aging on both their faces, she might as well have been gone a day as a decade.

And they had both been there. Daine felt nauseous all of a sudden. She could still see both of their faces leering, disgusted, behind their bows and arrows. Arrows aimed at her. A chill ran over her body not induced by the temperature or her condition. Her stomach clenched in preparation to rebel, and it was all she could to keep control over her body. She would not think of that day, nor of what they would do once they found out who she was. She would concentrate on her current discussion with Numair. Numair wouldn't let anything happen to her, even if it meant turning someone into an apple tree—although she doubted it would come to that. In the meantime, she wouldn't worry him without cause.

Something must have shown on her face, however, for now he was leaning forward in concern.

"Magelet, is everything alright?" he asked her, making it obvious that he knew that everything wasn't. Despite this, she attempted to comfort him into thinking her well.

"I'm just a little cold," she fibbed, mentally crossing her fingers that he would buy it. Of course, Numair being Numair, he didn't.

"I've known you long enough by now to know that that is not all that's wrong," he reported, although he still moved his chair closer to hers to discreetly help keep her warm. Daine closed her eyes in a long, fortifying blink.

"It's just…this place," she said, still not meeting his eyes, although hers were now open. "It's making me remember things that I'd rather forget."

She risked a glance at him, and saw that he was nodding in sympathy. As he reached out to take her hand, she wondered if this was how he had felt when they had needed to return to Carthak. She found a new respect for his composure in that particular instance, regardless of any rash actions later. She was certain she could not have done any better, and so far she had done much worse.

"Whatever happens, I want you to remember that no matter what these people may say, they no longer have any hold on you," he told her softly. "I will love you even if this entire country decides it doesn't want you anymore, even if the people here decide that you're crazy. I will pity them for shunning such an extraordinary woman." Daine smiled weakly up at him and tried her best to scrub the moisture from her eyes.

"Bayard, get off your sodding lazy bum! I need another ale!"

Daine shot a glare at the man that had ruined the moment as Bayard, exactly the same as she remembered, came into the room and slammed a mug of alcohol on the table before the miller, probably with some rude remark to accompany it. He had turned to leave the room once more when he noticed the girl's presence at the hearth, and with an overly warm smile approached the pair. Daine took a deep breath and squeezed Numair's hand one last time for strength before the pair of them stood. Shield also seemed to realize her need and stood beside her, allowing her to bury her hand in his fur.

"Good morrow, Master Numair," the man said jovially as he reached the couple. The next statement was directed at her. "I'm glad t'see ye're feelin' better; ye can thank the Green Lady for that." In a distant, ironic piece of her mind that seemed unaffected by the apprehension and worry coursing through her, she made a mental note to thank her mother for her good health. "Beggin' pardon, but I don't remember catchin' y'r name, Miss."

Daine took a deep, calming breath, feeling it expand her lungs to their fullest. She let it go slowly. "I don't suppose you would have, Master Bayard," she replied. "It's certainly been long enough."

"Beggin' pardon, but did we met 'afore, Miss? I don't rightly recall." The man was flustered; that much was certain. "A thousand pardons for forgettin' a lady fine as yourself, I doesn't mean any disrespect by it, Miss!" She wondered if she should have called him by name, but it was too late to do anything about it now.

"I believe your name might be in order, Magelet," Numair prompted with an arched eyebrow, clearly amused despite himself at Bayard's bamboozlement. Daine had to admit that it would have been amusing had the circumstances been different at all.

"Of course," she remarked as coldly as possible, and held out her hand to the innkeeper. "I believe you may remember the name Veralidaine Sarrasri? Or would you prefer Sarra's crazy bastard?"

Bayard stared at her in shock and terror. He slowly began backing away from her, making the Sign Against Evil on his chest. "Ye…Get away from me, ye demonspawn!" he cried, and having said this, fled as fast as his legs could take his chubby body.

Daine looked at her companion with a wry, twisted smile.

"Well. That went better than I'd hoped."


	4. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I own nothing! Power to the hobos (no offense meant)!

A/N: See, I told you not to get used to the frequent updates. I don't mean to sound callous or anything, but I _did_ warn you. I'm very, very sorry. I will try to update faster this time.

Chapter 3

It was funny, Daine thought, although a little annoying, that Numair got more upset about Bayard's reaction to her identity than she herself did. It was sweet, she supposed, how protective he got of her sometimes—in fact, it was quite endearing most of the time. Now, however, was one of those times in which it caused more harm than good.

As if Bayard's hasty (and dynamic) exit had not caused enough of a scene, Numair had gone positively livid at his response. It had actually been somewhat frightening; she could feel his magic growing with his anger, and she had wondered if this was because his anger caused his grip on it to slip a little or if it was because he was debating whether or not to use it on the innkeeper. From her position close to him, she could hear him beginning to mutter a steadily crescendo-ing protest to the Gallan's treatment of his Magelet. Daine had felt that this would be an opportune time to drag him up to her room—_before_ the surprised men across the room, not having heard all of the exchange with Bayard, could hear what he was saying.

So there they were, with Numair pacing the room in a picture of barely supressed rage, and her sitting on her bed trying to calm him down.

"You _saved the world_, Magelet!" he was exclaiming, most likely in reference to her defeat of Ozorne all those years ago (she couldn't think of anything else that qualified as saving the world, after all). "I refuse to let you be subject to such behavior!"

"And how do you plan to do that?" Daine wanted to know. "Keep me in here until I'm well again?" This comment made the mage look somewhat sheepish, but it was obvious that it had done little to cool his temper. She sighed. "These people don't know what I've done these last years, Numair. Most of them don't even know that I'm sane now, or that I won't go mad again. Can you blame them for being a little afraid of me?"

"Yes!" he yelled, gesturing violently. "If they had any common sense at all they could see that—"

"People see what they want to see, Numair," the woman interrupted rationally. "It doesn't matter if it has wings; if they want to see a snake, all they see is a snake."

"But you're not a bird or a snake!" was the not-so-logical response.

"I can be!" she reminded him pointedly, and coughed a little from the illness she was recovering from. "These people have never even seen any Gift stronger than that of a hedge-witch; how can you expect them to even comprehend the existence of Wild Magic, let alone accept it?"

"So now you're defending them?" Numair demanded, fixing her with an angry and disbelieving gaze. "These people abandoned you, then tried to kill you! Why are you taking their side?"

"Did you think I had forgotten that?" Daine asked in return, her voice now sad and soft rather than argumentative. "That's why I'm glad all Bayard did was call me names. They're only names, Numair; they can't hurt me anymore."

Some of the anger ebbed out of her lover's eyes, and he crossed the room to sit next to her. "They hurt me," he told her, placing a hand on her shoulder. He let out a slow breath, bowing his head. "I'm sorry, Magelet. It's just–I can't just stand by and let them treat you like that, after all they've already put you through."

Daine relaxed into his chest, relieved that the argument was finally resolving itself. "You should be thanking them, you know," she remarked off-handedly. She could feel Numair's penetrating stare boring into the top of her head. "If it weren't for them, I would never have met you."

Numair chuckled, and with her head pressed against his chest the sound was curiously distorted. "That, my dear, is the only thing they have redeeming them in my eyes." Daine turned her face up to look at him, and was greeted by a soft pair of lips upon hers. She returned the kiss briefly but warmly, then scooted out of his reach.

"So, Master Salmalin, are you ready to behave yourself?" she demanded mock-sternly, despite the fact that she was quite serious in her demand. The man sighed.

"For the moment," he conceded good-naturedly, but added darkly, "Although I can't make any promises if I find their manners less than satisfactory." Daine laughed at this and stood.

"Well, as long as you don't turn anyone into a tree I can't complain," she teased as he rose gracefully to his feet. Numair made an indignant noise.

"This coming from the girl that single-handedly destroyed a palace?" he demanded. "Besides, would you rather I had let Tristan annihilate you?"

"I suppose I can make an exception if I'm in mortal danger," she amended with a small smile. "And it wasn't single-handedly; it was the dinosaurs did most of it."

"Dinosaurs that _you_ revived," he pointed out, getting the last word. His lover frowned at him.

"That's quite enough of that," she told him. "And if you have nothing more important to say, I for one intend to get something to eat."

Numair cursed briefly as he followed her to the door of the room. "I'm sorry Magelet, I completely forgot. It should have occurred to me that—"

"Numair, if I haven't gotten used to you being scatterbrained by now, I never will," the Wildmage interrupted she began the descent to the common room. "If I was hungry before, I would have said that I was."

The man looked uncertain still, but allowed the subject to drop. Daine was relieved; she didn't want to start another argument so close on the heels of the last, and about something so trivial.

What kind of service they would get at the inn, her identity having been revealed, she was uncertain of. However, she was fairly certain that they could find someone willing to provide them food and shelter should Bayard's prejudices get in the way of his love for money. After all, not _every_ person in Snowsdale could hate and fear her, could they?

Their entrance to the common room was greeted by an uncomfortable silence, one that Daine suspected had a great deal to do with her presence. Had Bayard told them who she was? Her question was soon answered as the serving girl—Amily, she thought—approached them.

"Your pardon sir, miss," she began somewhat nervously, "M'lord Bayard gave me instructions not to serve you." She gave them an impish smile. "But he never said nothin' 'bout lettin' you serve yourselves. The kitchen's back there—" she gestured at a door leading off of the room, "and I don't think a little bread and soup won't be missed."

Numair and Daine looked at each other with relieved smiles.

"Thank you very much for your assistance," Numair told her with a smile that probably melted her heart (it never seemed to stop melting Daine's, and she had had time to grow accustomed to it). "But I would hate to see you take the blame for our actions. I'm afraid we must decline."

"Oh, it's alright," Amily declared with a brilliant smile. "I ain't got nothin' against you, and Bayard's a right fool if he ain't gonna take good money. If you don't mind me sayin' so," she added as an afterthought.

"Thank you," Daine put in before Numair could think about protesting again. "We could've managed on our own, but I like this option much better. Is there anything we can do to thank you?"

"It ain't nothin'," the young woman said modestly, but then shot a coy look up at the pair. "But if I was to find out why Bayard was so flustered…"

Daine exchanged a brief glance with Numair, in which his eyes warned her not to take any unnecessary risks and she in turn replied that she would take as many risks as she liked, thank you very much. As she returned her gaze to Amily, she smiled as warmly as she could manage given the circumstances, although she had a feeling that it was a hollow gesture.

"You'll have found out sooner or later anyway," the Wildmage said, partially for her own reassurance, and partially for that of Numair. "News travels fast here."

"Oh, I know, but I rather heard it from you," the young woman explained. "Rumors spring up like weeds too, and if half of 'em are true I'll eat my apron."

"Then I'll be honest," Daine replied with a sigh, and steeled herself. She could feel her lover stiffen behind her as if anticipating trouble—which wasn't really such an unreasonable assumption, come to think of it. "It's because most of Snowsdale thinks me raving mad at best."

"Really?" Amily seemed surprised. "Why'd anyone think that?"

"Probably because I was, for a while." She tried to be nonchalant about it, but was altogether unsure of whether she was succeeding. "After the bandit attack ten years ago…"

Amily looked like she was trying to place something at the very edge of her mind. She stared intently at Daine's face, and suddenly a spark of recognition flared into her eyes. She straightened in surprise, but from what the Tortallan could tell there was no malice or horror in her expression.

"Daine?" she asked disbelievingly. At the nod of confirmation, she proceeded to gape even more dynamically. "They said you was gone feral—thought you was a wolf, didn't know who you was! I knew they was lyin', I just knew it!"

Daine winced, but thankfully Numair took over for her. "Actually, they weren't," he informed the maid, placing a loving hand on the former outcast's shoulder. "Daine's magic caused her to lose touch with her human self. She is in no danger of doing so now because of her training, but back then she had none of the control she has now."

Amily looked skeptical about this explanation, although she had not missed his possessive gesture and was now sizing him up in a new light. "Your pardon, sir, but I think I'd like Daine's side of the story. If you don't mind?"

With this, the Wildmage felt her elbow being seized and used to steer her into the kitchens. She was just able to catch Numair's wry comment "I believe I have been dismissed" before she was led away entirely.


	5. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Sometimes I wonder if I even own the disclaimer, so obviously nothing else belongs to me either.

A/N: He who tells you that writing at two o'clock in the morning is a bad idea…hath lied. It breaks writer's block.

Chapter 4

Numair was happy for Daine. Really he was. At least there was one person in this horrible town who was willing to accept his former student after what had happened, which was one more person than they had any reason to expect.

However, that one person had made it clear that he was not currently welcome in the kitchen, and thus had dashed his last hopes of eating a somewhat civilized meal. Unless by some miracle he was able to find someone to prepare his dinner for him, he was on his own. Due to his dislike of these people and unfamiliarity with this town, the chances of this happening were extremely slim.

He weighed his options. Someone had to be selling _something_ edible, hadn't they? After all, this was an agrarian community whether or not it was winter. At the very least there would be bread, and if not—in winter months, most families were more than happy for a way to earn a little extra money.

Besides this, he wanted to get a better idea of what the setting for his beloved's childhood had been. Despite the bad memories it carried with it, he felt that it was important to get a feeling for the place—and thus far, all he had really seen was the inside of the inn.

The fact that he desperately needed a bit of fresh air concluded his internal debate, and pleased at coming to a decision he made his way to the door.

Snowsdale was a very small town—more like a village, really—but just as Numair had predicted, there was a very small market. It was barely even this; all it consisted of was a few small booths lined up along the street, and most of these were closed. However, there were still a few small stalls open, the most notable of which seeming to be carrying rolls, bread, and pastries. The goods of this stall smelled so wonderful that his feet were moving before he had made a conscious decision.

As the mage made his purchase of rolls stuffed with cheese and bits of meat, he realized exactly how famished he was. He had hardly eaten a meal since he had brought Daine here last night, and as if to remind him of this fact his stomach rumbled while he handed his coins to the vendor.

It seemed as though Bayard had not spread the news of his and his companion's identities quite yet, because of the good treatment he received from the owner of the stall. Still, he decided that it would be best to play it safe and eat his meal somewhere where he would not disturb or be disturbed by the residents of this town. Although his first choice would be to get out of the town entirely, this was not an option, so his second choice would have to make do. Thus the lunch hour found him perched on the fence of a communal stockyard, safe in the company of cattle.

Or not.

A pair of large brown eyes was gazing up at him, and they were most certainly human. Granted, small children generally weren't classified as dangerous, so he was only marginally startled when he noticed the boy's presence.

"Hello," he began with a warm smile. "Is this your fence? I'd be more than happy to move if that's the case."

The boy looked surprised that he was being addressed as an equal, and turned bashful, scuffing at the dirt and avoiding from Numair's gaze as children are prone to do.

Numair loved children. He knew that the idea of such a powerful mage and scholar cavorting with toddlers and the like was probably a humorous image, but then again few people had probably pictured the King's Champion as a doting mother either. Children were innocent; none of the lies and self-deceptions of adults. Children were uncorrupted by the rules of society. And they were absolutely adorable.

As he began to attempt to win this boy's affections, he also started to wonder idly what kind of mother Daine would make. He knew that he wanted children, but if she didn't… Of course, the dragonet they nicknamed Kitten (who had opted to stay in Corus for the duration of this trip for reasons that had yet to become clear) was like a child to them already, but he wanted some of their own.

The mage bit back a frown as he picked up the three remaining rolls from his lunch as convenient objects to juggle. It wasn't his place to be thinking of children just yet. Even after nine years of being technically engaged, his sweetheart had yet to take the idea of marriage seriously. It was enough to make him wonder if she ever would, and just the thought of never having that with her caused his heart to sink.

He forced himself to concentrate on the laughing child before him rather than such melancholy thoughts. He had quickly overcome the initial shyness and was now eliciting uninhibited giggles in return for his antics. He grinned as he caught the three rolls and bowed as elegantly as was possible from his seat.

The sound of delighted clapping caused him to look up sharply. Numair cursed himself for not being aware that he had not noticed anyone else's presence; he had found that thinking of Daine often made him oblivious to much else, and this was obviously the case now.

He was relieved to see that his unnoticed audience only consisted of one highly amused young woman, who did not appear threatening in the slightest. She was shorter than Daine and gently curved, with long, dirty-blonde hair—altogether not an unpleasant sight, and one that he would have found highly attractive had he not been so in love with another woman. He relaxed somewhat, although keeping in mind that appearances could be deceiving remained somewhat wary. He smiled winsomely at her and got to his feet, bowing once again.

"My apologies, madam," he declared eloquently. "I was unaware that I had such a charming audience. Numair Salmalin, at your service."

The woman laughed at this. "By all means, don't stop for me. Not lots of people can get over Arron's shyness so quick. You got to have a lot of talent to make him like you so much."

"A man may only hope," was the reply. Numair considered this woman carefully; she seemed friendly enough, but that was hardly anything to judge by. He would have to watch himself very carefully; she was certainly old enough to have known Daine, and he didn't want to know what her reaction would be should she find out who his companion was.

"But tell me, what can the name of such a pleasant young woman be?" he inquired, consciously laying the compliments on thickly. He was well aware that the best way to leave a good impression was through the constant use of flattery, and it was a strategy that had served him well in the past.

"You can call me Mandaly," she instructed him, entering the pasture and making her way to the boy that she had called Arron. To the child, she added, "Come along, little nephew. Your mother got lunch waiting."

Gracefully, Mandaly scooped up the boy and seated him on her hip. She took a few steps away before pausing and turning to Numair again.

"If you got nowheres else to go, Master Numair, I bet my sister wouldn't mind someone Arron likes so much joinin' us," she invited with a coy smile. Numair weighed his options carefully. He wasn't entirely sure that he wanted to agree, but he had to leave a good impression on these people for Daine's sake, and turning her down would be seen as terribly rude.

"I would be delighted," Numair lied smilingly, "to join you and your sister's family."


	6. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: By this point, if you think that I think that I own Tamora Pierce's marvelous work, you are incredibly dense.

A/N: Wow. Much as I hate to admit it, I totally had no intention of writing this today. I was just sitting at the computer, incredibly bored, and the next thing I knew I was halfway through the chapter. So. You get a speedy update!

Chapter 5

Daine's conversation with Amily left her feeling considerably better about the whole situation. It was a relief to know that not everyone hated her after what had happened, and according to the maid she wasn't the only one that had disbelieved the rumors. It was somewhat uncomfortable to have her childhood friend in awe of her and her achievements, but it also brought a warm kind of feeling that she finally had proof that she wasn't the good-for-nothing that everyone had claimed that she was.

Unfortunately, the reunion between the two girls was cut short quite abruptly at a bellow from the common room. Amily winced.

"That'd be Bayard," she remarked regretfully. "He'll be none too happy to see me talkin' to you. Um…"

Daine picked up on the other girl's awkwardness and smiled warmly. "Then I'd best not get you in trouble. Numair's likely starving. If I might have some of this bread…?"

"Of course." Amily was obviously relieved that Daine understood her need to stay in favor with her employer. After all, there weren't too many jobs available in Snowsdale as good as the one that she had, and it would be a terrible blow to her family if she were to lose it. "I'll give y' a bite of cheese too…and Bayard won't be missin' a little sausage either, I'm thinkin'."

"Thank you." The wildmage accepted the napkin in which Amily had wrapped the food, but held onto the younger girl's hand for a moment. "I'd fair given up hope that anyone back here would still like me, after all that'd happened."

"An' you really thought all of us'd believe you was mad?" The maid demanded in indignance. "You're truly mad if you think that. I wouldn't believe half what these puffed up villagers say about their flocks, not to say if they tell 'bout somethin' so fanciful."

"Amily, you little chit, y'd best get your lazy self in 'ere before I drag you myself," came a deep, unpleasant bellow. Amily frowned.

"I'd best not keep him waitin'," she remarked apologetically, then grabbed a tray and bustled out of the room. Daine waited for a moment to peek outside the kitchen to see if she could figure out the location of her errant mage. No such luck; he was nowhere to be seen. She pursed her lips and ducked back out of view from the common room. It really wasn't that it was too troublesome to find him, given her magical abilities, but he should know better by now than to go wandering off alone.

A quick survey of the local animals traced him to a house near the outskirts of the village, and this fact caused her to chew her lip in consternation. What could possibly have him in someone's house, especially since he knew her past with these people? This thought was not a pleasant one, considering that the only reasons she could think of were bad ones.

Relax, she told herself as she exited the kitchen through a back door that lead to the stable-yard. Perhaps someone just needed his help with something, since he's a mage and all. It didn't mean that catastrophe had stricken.

_You fret too much,_ a grey pony informed her. Daine smiled at the sight of her loyal Cloud, and allowed the mare to butt her head against her side. She noticed amusedly that several other ponies had drifted near her in hopes of similar attention. _The stork-man can take care of himself. And if you ever try to ride me that sick again, I shall have to throw you,_ Cloud added in reference to the previous night's activities.

"It's not as though I _knew_ I was that sick," Daine protested, hands on hips. Cloud snorted and tossed her head.

_You would have noticed if you had been paying attention. You need to take better care of yourself. The stork-man nearly ran Spots and me to exhaustion trying to get here._ It was Daine's turn to snort, and she had opened her mouth to retort when she noticed several pairs of wary, suspicious human eyes turned in her direction. With a sigh she decided that it would be best not to give them any more reason to think her insane than they already had. With one last caress to the mare's head and a silent promise to the other ponies that she would be back to get acquainted with them later, she made her way out of the stable yard.

It was odd to walk the streets of her childhood again, more so than it had been to look upon them from the inn's window. Then she was removed from it all; she had a barrier between the town and herself, and it was almost possible to convince herself that she was somewhere else entirely. Now there was no denying that she was back in Snowsdale.

In all her years away, she still remembered it in great detail. The memories were like ghosts haunting every tree and house and stone, some half-remembered and others only fleeting glimpses into a life that did not seem to be her own. With these memories came the emotions that she had feared would spring upon her when she had first discovered where she was. There was no more denying that there had been a part of her that had been claimed by Snowsdale long ago, and that part of her still remained no matter how long it had remained buried and dormant.

Daine reached into her shirt and pulled out the Badger's claw, holding it tightly in her clenched fist. She refused to let herself be taken back over by the feelings of inferiority and fear and hatred that had been so much a part of her early years. Her life had been changed in Tortall, and she was not going to let this place recapture her.

Reminding herself of who she had become helped her to stand tall against the curious glances cast her way by villagers. She would prove to them—and to herself—once and for all that she was someone to be respected and treated as an equal.

It was difficult to keep her eyes straight forward as she tried to maintain an air of confidence in walking down the streets. She was convinced that if she were to meet anyone's eyes they would recognize her or she would break down completely, neither of which she could deal with right now. She kept her pace even, for all that she wanted to break into a run and fling herself into Numair's arms.

Just keep going, she instructed herself. You'll be with Numair soon, and then you'll be able to deal with this.

It seemed to be both an infinitely long and short time until a few sparrows chirped out that this was the right place. Daine took a deep breath and spent a moment straightening her appearance; if she was to confront the owner of this house, then she wanted to look as well off as she possibly could. It took another moment of reassurance from the sparrows and a few mice for her to gather the courage to knock on the door.

The wooden portal did not swing open immediately, and in the tense minute in which she waited for a response she registered feminine laughter drifting out the window. A lilting woman's voice said something that was on the verge of being distinguishable, and was followed by a very familiar laugh that Daine had grown to adore. Doubt filled her; who was she to go barging in if he was enjoying himself?

The wildmage had no more time for worrying, however, as the door was opened to reveal a petite woman with fair hair even for a Gallan. Daine blinked in surprise as she connected the face with a name: Nonia. The memory of her ma giving assistance with a breech-birth during her stay in the Divine Realms flooded her mind; hadn't she said that the mother of the babe was Nonia? The thought scared her now as it had then; the woman was only a year older than her, and not only was she married but a mother of several years.

"May I help you?" Nonia was inquiring, and Daine was about to answer when her eyes drifted past the mistress of the household.

Numair sat in the picture of relaxation beside Nonia's older sister, both of them seemingly absorbed by the other's company. It was plain to see that Mandaly was completely taken in by the mage, and had seemingly set her sights on winning him over to having the same feelings for her. Numair, for his part, did not seem to be resisting the woman's charming advances.

"…assure you, the scenery of Tortall cannot possibly compare to your beautiful Galla," he was informing her. With a sinking sensation Daine recognized his tone—it was the one he had used when he was just her teacher, trying to win the affections of some court beauty.

What was it that Onua had said of him, back when they had just met? "He goes for shapely blondes." Well, Mandaly certainly fit both of those requirements, and Daine could only qualify for the shapely bit, and then only if you were willing to be generous. And besides that, she was eight years Daine's elder—a mature woman closer to Numair's own age by far. Beside Mandaly, how could she possibly hold a candle?

Daine's breath caught in her throat. Perhaps…perhaps everyone had been right about things here in Snowsdale. No man would want someone like her, and she had been foolish to keep hoping for so long. She should have taken it as a hint that he had hardly brought up their marriage again after the first year or two.

Her voice only hitched a little as she mumbled out some excuse to Nonia and turned on her heel. She struggled to keep from sobbing within the town limits. Although a few tears managed to leak out, she miraculously managed to keep herself from bawling until she had reached the familiar forest surrounding Snowsdale.

It was a mystery to her how she managed to make it to the tiny cave that had been a refuge in her childhood. Somehow, as rivers of tears spilled from her eyes, the place had lost its comfort.


	7. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: If I laid claim to any of Tamora Pierce's work, I would undoubtedly ruin it totally and completely. It's fine how it is, thanks very much.

A/N: Yes, yes, long time no update. I'm dreadfully sorry, but I've been a tad stressed out of late and lacking inspiration to boot. That's my excuse. Take it or leave it.

I want to thank all of you for reviewing. Really. You're amazing. I never expected this story to be so successful. Doyou realize that this almost has more reviews than my other story, which has 13 freaking chapters? So thanks for staying loyal, and I love you all.

Chapter 6

It was very late in the evening by the time that Daine gathered up the courage to return to the inn. Despite the many small, warm bodies that had so eagerly offered their support, her illness was making a comeback. Hers was a miserable arrival; she was cold, weak with sickness, and did not feel ready to face Numair in the slightest.

In the end, the wildmage chose to sleep with her trusty steed rather than the man waiting for her inside. She knew that she should at least confront him with what she had seen, but was to afraid to even do that. It was impossible for her to summon up anger at his betrayal, although she wished she could; the only thing she felt was a deep penetrating sorrow. She felt that the moment she set eyes on him she would shatter into a thousand tiny pieces. This was too much on top of everything else that had happened in the past few days, this which would have been too much by itself.

And so Daine curled up in a pile of straw with the warm comfort of her pony, the only thing that had remained constant through all the tragedy and joy in her life, at her back.

Morning came all too soon. Daine woke to the growling of her stomach and the realization that all she had eaten the night previous was an old apple filched from the stable's supplies that had undoubtedly been meant for the ponies. It felt wrong for her to want something to eat, now that Numair no longer cared for her, but Cloud and the other stabled animals were far too insistent for her to resist their pleas. With some great reluctance she slipped into the kitchen from the back door she had escaped from…was it really just yesterday? It was amazing how drastically her universe could change in such a short time.

She successfully managed to obtain a roll from the curious Amily, but quickly retreated to the common room in the face of concerned questions that she was unable to answer for fear of breaking down in tears once more. After reaching the common room, however, she became doubtful of whether the situation she had left would be the worse.

There, before the fire in one of the chairs that they had sat talking in the previous day, sat Numair. Daine's breath caught in her throat, not only because of the sickness that was beginning to take hold again. The chair's back was to her, but from what she could see the man was asleep. Maybe, she thought, she could get by him unnoticed and have some time to compose herself before coming face to face with him.

The young woman had crept across the empty room silently and had just reached out to open the door when a voice came from behind her.

"If I didn't know you better, I'd say you were trying to avoid me."

Daine froze in place, unable to move one way or the other despite her mind screaming at her to flee, to confront him, to do _something_ other than just stand there.

"Magelet?" he sounded confused and worried now, voice lacking the trace of good humor his previous statement had borne. She sensed more than heard him get up and start his way across the room. "Is something wrong?"

She couldn't do it anymore. No matter how long she wanted to delay this moment, she couldn't keep what she had seen bottled up anymore. Finally came a trace of that anger she had been longing for. How could he just go on as though everything was just as it had been? How long had he pretending? How many other women had come before Mandaly?

Daine turned to face the lanky man, chin tilted up in determination. "Fine question that is! Seems to me you should be asking yourself what you did to deserve being avoided." She fought back the cough building in her chest, resolved not to show any weakness.

"What are you—" She had to notice how authentic his confusion appeared; he truly was a Player at heart.

"Did you think I wouldn't find out, Numair? Did you truly think you could keep it from me?" She blinked angrily to keep from tearing up and suppressed another cough, despite the building pressure in her chest and how difficult it was to breathe. She had to stand firm, or she would collapse entirely.

Enlightenment seemed to dawn on the mage, and he reached out to place a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry. I didn't think that it would upset you this much, or I never would have done it."

Daine could not believe what she had just heard. Absolutely could not. The Numair she loved would never, ever be this heartless. She couldn't stop the tears this time as she filled with both rage and the deepest, bitterest sadness. "You didn't think it would upset me?" she demanded, volume climbing hoarsely, painfully. "How—" Her voice had reached its limit, and she fell to her knees in a violent coughing fit made no easier by the sobs that were also racking her body.

The young woman struggled to get a breath in, but each intake of oxygen seemed only to make her feel as though she was drownnig. All she could do was choke and cough and cry and shut her eyes tight, tight against the world and her tears and seeing him—and then he was there and he had one arm around her, and it was steadying her, and the other was doing…something, something that was helping her breathe and now there was air and she wasn't drowning after all and she was so cold and his body was so warm and comforting and why had she been crying?

Daine took a few shallow breaths, reveling in the ability to breath and the _rightness_ of his heart beating beneath her ear, allowing herself to forget that he no longer loved her. For now, wasn't it enough that he was holding her? Maybe it had all been something she had imagined, and if not, couldn't she just pretend it was? But she knew that she couldn't, any more than she could pull herself out of his arms. She cursed her helplessness, her weakness, and the fact that she now seemed to be crying again, albeit silently.

"I think, perhaps, that we should talk," Numair said quietly, but with no room for disagreement. Daine herself was in no position to argue as he somehow managed to provide and put on a fur-lined cloak for each of them, managing all this without his former student leaving his arms. She was in a dreamlike state partially due to physical weakness and partly because of her state of emotional shock. She registered a blast of cold as the man carried her outside but took no note of their surroundings, simply taking comfort in his warmth and his motion.

She came to herself as the familiar rocking of her body stopped, and a voice a distant part of her mind recognized as Numair stated "I believe we shall have some privacy here."

Daine coughed a little and sat up, blinking blearily and trying to remember what was going on. Even as she began to recall the events of the past day and put them together in her mind, the mage set her gently on a cold surface (she soon realized it was a rock) and took a seat on the boulder across from her. They were still fairly close to the village of Snowsdale, but far enough into the wilds surrounding it that they need not worry about being overheard unintentionally, as the nearest dwelling was about seventy-five yards away. Daine realized that this was probably the best place they could have gone if privacy was indeed their aim.

"Now, why don't you tell me what exactly it is that has you so upset," Numair suggested soothingly, his concerned eyes never leaving her face. The wildmage supposed that it was probably part of his plan to catch her while she was still off-guard, but she was past the point of caring anymore. Every part of her hurt, both body and soul, and all she wanted was for the hurting to go away.

"If you—" She started, but had to stop for another brief coughing fit. Numair half rose to his feet, but she waved him off. "I'm all right. Really." She closed her eyes and took a few calming breaths, then tried again.

"If you wanted other women, you could have told me," she began, refusing to look at him for fear of losing control. "I'd have understood. It was silly to think you could be happy to be with a baby like me, anyway." She felt the tears start welling up again, as she'd known they would, but refused to let herself get choked up. Another cough. "But you shouldn't have hid it from me, Numair." She cast a brief but desperate glance at his surprised face, then looked away again. "You shouldn't have kept pretending. If you were afraid of hurting me…well, it hurt a lot more this way. It—"

"Daine," she heard his voice say, "I never—"

"I saw you with Mandaly," she interrupted in return, now feeling brave and angry enough to risk looking at him. This something that he couldn't deny; her eyes dared him to try it, to try saying that he hadn't been with her, that his voice hadn't sounded that way, that his eyes hadn't looked that way. "You sounded exactly how you used to, back before we were together, when you wanted to charm yourself into a woman's heart—or a woman's bed, I could never decide which."

"Daine, will you listen to me?" Numair all but yelled, on the verge of anger himself. "I have never even _dreamed_ of being disloyal to you. Not once! How could I possibly want anyone else?"

"I didn't imagine what I saw," she maintained, wanting more than anything to believe him but unable to allow herself to be taken in so quickly.

"I'm not saying you _did_, but what you saw wasn't what you thought it was!" The black-robe mage exclaimed. "I was being _polite_! I wouldn't have been there at all if I'd had that choice, but unless I wanted to give those people reason to dislike us even more, I couldn't!"

"Funny, Mandaly seemed to like you just fine," Daine persisted, hardly allowing herself to hope.

"How can you—"

"Really? Could you tell?" Came a pleasant feminine voice from behind them. As one the pair turned to find themselves faced with none other than the topic of their discussion—and behind her, a mob of armed, dangerous-looking villagers.

"All we want's the chit," said one man, stepping forward. "Give us her without a fuss and we won't hurt nobody else."


	8. Chapter7

A/N: There might be a little bit of stronger language in this chapter, so if you're averse to that I would advise caution.

Um…my apologies. This plot twist may seem overkill to some, but I really needed it to make the story work, and I promise that I will add nothing else that's entirely outrageous. That's all I can offer you.

Chapter 7

Numair cursed himself for having been caught off-guard. He should have been paying attention to his surroundings. How many times had he been working with the army or the Queen's Riders, or been on a mission for Jonathon, or just plain found himself in a bad situation? And yet he was unable to realize the approach of an untrained mob of villagers until it was too late.

He knew how it had happened, of course. Daine's accusation had shocked him to the core, and he had been so caught up in their conversation that he had not an iota of attention to spare on anything else. Too often had that woman had that effect on him, but never to this extent. He knew he should have just warded their room in the inn and had this conversation there…but for some reason he had felt the need to conceal his Gift from these people as long as possible. Now he cursed himself for that as well, even knowing that they would have been trapped like rats in that room.

Still, what was done was done, and he had no time to dwell on self-admonishments or rationalizations. He had to deal with what was going on here and now. These villagers demanded that he hand over his Daine. They were welcome to try to get her, too—if they could get past him alive, he didn't deserve to keep her, and he'd be damned if she would just roll over and let them take her, either.

"I believe that you will find taking control of her will be a bit more difficult than you imagine." He was trying his hardest to be diplomatic first; he had no desire to cause unnecessary harm to defenseless village people. "May I ask why you are so determined to have her?"

"The bastard's crazy!" One voice piped up, followed by a tumult of other contributions that Numair only managed to catch a handful of.

"Thinks she's an animal!"

"Feral bitch!"

"She's a danger to people everywheres!"

By the time the sea of noise had died down, Numair was struggling to reign in his temper. He reminded himself that these people were ignorant, that they had probably never even heard of Wild Magic _or_ the Wildmage in all their lilves. It helped, but not quite enough.

"Does she look crazy to you?" The mage demanded, gesturing at his love. Daine, to her credit, was standing beside him quite stoically given the circumstances. "Is that what you call crazy? This young woman is one of the most—" He was cut off by a hand lain on his arm—an arm on which, he was almost surprised to see, were perched any number of birds. He looked at her again to find her being supported by a young buck and surrounded by yet more of the woodland creatures that she shared a bond with. She seemed to draw strength from them as he watched.

"That's enough," she instructed him. "I can handle this myself. It's my past to confront, not yours." She turned to address the crowd, but was cut off before she even began.

"Come now, Master Salmalin, you can't go saying she ain't crazy forever," Mandaly informed him, drawing ever nearer to the pair of them. "We all know what she done all them years ago, so you got to stop defending her. It ain't nice taking advantage of a girl that ain't even know she's human, especially now you got me."

Numair bristled at both the insult to Daine and the implications laced through her words, but this time he was not the one to defend his companion's honor.

"I know what I am just fine, Mandaly Bernsra," Daine pronounced coldly and crisply, her voice traveling into a sudden silence, "and that's something no one but the Black God has the right to judge. Seems to me you have enough on your plate trying to snare every eligible man that walks by your door without bothering with gods' work."

The crowd broke into a wild muttering, some commenting on the fact that she seemed quite herself, others on the animals surrounding her, and still others on the idea that she was trying to bewitch them. Numair found himself smiling at Daine's comeback and took a step closer to her (which was, coincidentally, a step farther from Mandaly).

"Aye, she seems fine now," said the man in charge at last. Numair noticed that no one had yet addressed the young woman directly. "Mayhaps she ain't never made you think otherways. But then, mayhaps you ain't never heard what she done ten years back neither."

"I know enough of what happened then," the mage informed him high-handedly, "to understand that your fears of her madness are completely unfounded. And if you would be so kind, _sir_, as to not act as though the person whom this concerns is incapable of speaking on her own behalf."

"And I would, too, if she _were_ able to speak for herself," the leader returned, glancing at the girl with a curled lip. "Thing is, she ain't better'n one o' her precious beasties as far as the thinkin' goes."

"Of all the ignorant—"

"Numair." The voice was quiet, but urgent. The so named man turned to face the Wildmage, thinking at first that she would reprimand him again for fighting her battles. On his first glance at the expression she wore, though, he knew that it was far more serious than that. She had a look to her as though her mind was elsewhere, and it was only from a distance that she operated her body. He gave her a moment, knowing after years of companionship that she was concentrating on something her magic was telling her. Suddenly her head snapped up, eyes locking on his instantly.

"Hurroks—nine of them. Five minutes, maybe ten if we're lucky." It took a moment for this information and its connotations to sink in completely. The gods had removed the majority of the ill-intentioned immortals from their world, true enough, but for divine entities their job had been surprisingly unthorough, and a number of these beings remained. Apparently this—herd? flock?—of hurroks was among those.

It was instinct, long years of being placed in similar positions, that took over rather than any affinity for the villagers of Snowsdale. In an instant he was taking command of the situation, striding towards Snowsdale confidently with his love close behind.

"Your village is in danger. If you value your lives and those of your loved ones, you will go to your homes and stay there until the trouble is past," he instructed as the astounded crowd parted to let him and Daine through, uncertain of what exactly was going on. A number of villagers broke off from the group in order to protect themselves and their families, no questions asked. The rest, however, proved harder to convince.

"What's the big idea?" One man demanded. "You think we're stupid enough to fall for that? You're not getting off so easy as that!"

This outburst provoked a number of like-minded exclamations, and soon the mob had reformed around them. The pair stopped, surrounded, and Daine's eyes took on a glint that Numair could not quite identify.

"A group of hurroks is coming straight for Snowsdale," she snapped, frustration evident in her voice, "and all you can think of is getting your vengeance on me? If that's so I'm glad I went mad, as it meant I didn't have to live my life with cowards like you!" The crowd began its frantic murmuring once more, shocked at this girl that had had once been one of their number. Several men protested this statement quite vocally.

"We haven't the time to waste on this!" Sarra's bastard daughter continued angrily. "Can't you see that there are more important things to be doing right now?"

"Hurroks! What would hurroks want with us?" One man demanded.

"Bitch's still mad as ever!"

"Why should we believe you?" the leader of the group called over the rest of the cacophony. The Tortallan mage fixed him with a superior look that clearly stated that this small-town man knew nothing.

"You, sir, are looking at the two most powerful mages in King Jonathon of Tortall's employ, arguably in the entire continent," he informed the man haughtily. "I suggest that if we tell you that your town is about to be attacked by hurroks, you believe us."

This statement carried over the multitude and induced a sudden silence that lasted all of three seconds before the stunned chatter sprang up again. Still, such was the shock of the crowd that they managed to make it into the village before they were halted again.

"They're lying!"

"No way that whore's a mage!"

"They're trying to trick us!"

"The bastards are gonna pay!"

Of course, by this point Numair had resigned himself to the fact that he would simply have to ignore these people, livid though he was. At the moment, there was too much at stake for him to bother with a response; he had to concentrate on positioning Daine and himself in the best possible place to do combat, if it should come to that. He glanced at the sky briefly to see how much time they had left before the hurroks were upon them and cursed.

"They're here," he muttered, as much to himself as his companion, who had undoubtedly known of their arrival long before he had. Nevertheless, she too cursed upon hearing this news.

"I'd hoped to get to my bow before they got here," she told him with a wry smile, seeming to have put aside her grievances of the morning in face of this threat to the place that had once been her home. He looked down at her and raised an eyebrow.

"I suppose that you'll just have to use your magic, then," he replied. After all, if the people of Snowsdale wouldn't believe him when he said she was a mage, she would just have to prove it to him.

And of course, the hurroks chose that moment to attack.


	9. Chapter 8

A/N: A little violence in this chappie. If you don't like blood and gore, it would be better to only skim until the action's over. Sadly, there's only one more chapter to this merry story, but I have every intention of writing a few Daine/Numair oneshots, so keep an eye open!

Chapter 8

The moment that the first hurrok swooped towards the cluster of humans below, Daine let years of experience take over. What did it matter that these people had just been out for her blood? What did it matter that these people had not believed in her abilities as a mage, and that it felt odd to be doing magic in front of them? It was an undefended village, and if she could save innocent lives, she would do so at any cost.

So the instant that she sensed the hurrok move downward, she was in action.

It was as a bird of prey that she sprang into battle. She did her best to ignore the murmurings of shock and fear below her as she raced upwards to meet her opponent. A bolt of black lightening sparkling with bits of silver shot past her and into the flock that had not yet begun its effort. Despite her misgivings, a feeling of security spread through her at the thought that Numair was at her back.

But there was no time to think of this; already she was upon that first hurrok. The changeling agilely evaded the teeth snapping at her and tore at the creature's back with her claws. The thing bellowed in rage, and she took the opportunity to shift into a large wolf. With one swift snap of her jaws the hurrok's spine was broken and it was plummeting to the ground, but already she was flying towards her next target.

The next beast she didn't even bother to leave her avian shape for, instead choosing to use her sharp talons to rip through the delicate membrane of its wings. From such a height, the moment it hit the ground it would be dead.

Daine's magic warned her a moment too late of an immortal coming at her from above. The girl-bird wheeled away, but not in time to save her back from being painfully clipped by the claws on her attacker. She flapped franticly to keep herself up and turned to face the creature that had injured her, only to find it being incinerated by familiar black fire. She cast a grateful glance at Numair before selecting her next target.

A child's scream caught her attention. She turned swiftly towards the sound, locking onto its source almost immediately. A small boy was being lifted heavenward by a hurrok that had broken away from the rest of the group to find its prey. Without another thought the Wildmage sped towards it, fear lacing through her. If she didn't get there in time the child would be dead, killed by a creature only too happy to make him its supper.

A shriek of rage accompanied her attack, causing a crescendo to the hysterics of the captive child that did not know that this ferocious bird was trying to rescue it. Daine fell on the creature fiercely, angered that it would dare attempt to carry of something so innocent and defenseless.

She chose the form of a great cat as she attacked the creature, snarling and scratching and biting for all she was worth. The hurrok, caught off balance by the animal that had landed on its back, bucked and spun in an attempt to throw her off. She clung to it, wrapping her front legs around its neck and digging her claws in. The shriek of pain was earsplitting at such close range but she refused to let go, instead adding her teeth to the effort. In a last desperate attempt to get rid of her, the hurrok twisted and tried to get a grip on her with its fangs—and found it. Now it was Daine's turn to roar in agony, but despite the pain in her shoulder she only bit harder.

The immortal's flight pattern was growing irregular, and the shapeshifter knew that she had to end this now if she was to save the boy. Her left paw she extracted from its tight grip on the horse-like neck and plunged her claws into the throat, cutting as deeply as she could and tearing. Blood sprayed out of the wound, and the creature's talons slackened, releasing the boy into the open air.

Daine once more found the shape of a bird, although the largest one she could think of rather than a smaller, swifter kind she had found at the onset of the battle. She raced after the plummeting child, praying to whatever gods were listening that she could make it in time. With a final gust of speed she caught the boy's shoulders with her bloodied claws. The child shrieked louder, and she sent him a mental apology. She knew that she must be causing him immense pain by grabbing him so roughly where he had already been injured by the hurrok, but she also knew that it was better that than have him hit the ground at such a high speed.

Her own speed slowed, and as she neared the ground she realized exactly how much the fight and her illness had taken out of her. She set the boy gently on a patch of grass that had somehow remained free from snow, then collapsed herself beside him, allowing herself to take human form once more. Her right shoulder was bleeding heavily, and her back had a deep scratch in it as well. Both throbbed in pain, and Daine knew that she was far too exhausted to continue fighting. A quick scan with her magic caused her to realize that this would not be necessary; the only glimmers of unnatural life she could sense were fading quickly.

The young woman allowed her eyes to close briefly, and she gritted her teeth against pain and cold. Despite the bawling child beside her and the way the frosty air burned on her exposed skin, it felt good just to relax for a moment.

Daine came to herself with the pressure of a hand on her shoulder. She started, shocked that she had allowed herself to fall asleep and startled by the dark shape looming over her. As she adjusted to the light, however, she realized that it was only Numair that had discovered her in this vulnerable state, and she relaxed again.

She allowed the mage to help her to sit up, then suddenly found herself enveloped in his gentle embrace.

"Mithros, if something had happened to you with you still thinking I'd been unfaithful to you..." he breathed into her ear, and she found the spark of hope inside her being fanned to life. He held her tighter, and she winced as he put pressure on her hurt shoulder. Numair drew back immediately, holding her at arms length and taking in her injuries with poorly disguised alarm.

"What were you thinking, going into battle in the shape you're in?" he demanded in the familiar way he had of masking worry with anger. "You were hardly able to support your own weight, let alone fight! Have you no intention of recovering whatsoever?"

"You were the one that suggested I use my magic in the first place," Daine pointed out, if somewhat weakly.

Numair sputtered humorously as he searched for a suitable reply, then decided that this did not deserve a response. Instead he busied himself with tearing strips out of his shirt to serve for bandages. As he moved to dress her shoulder, however, she shook her head.

"Treat him first," she instructed, gesturing at the distressed child beside her. His shoulders both had deep scores where first the hurrok, then Daine, had grabbed him. "He needs it more than me."

The man didn't look very happy about this insistence, but acquiesced nonetheless, pausing first to hand her the clothes she had abandoned. As he gently began soothing the child, she awkwardly donned first her loincloth and breast-band, then her breeches. She contemplated her tunic for a moment before deciding that it would do more harm than good, and instead settled into a state of semi-consciousness to wait.

The first villager found them just as Numair was putting the finishing touches on Daine's shoulder. The man let up a shout, and they had just enough time to get to their feet and settle her cloak awkwardly about her shoulders before the people of Snowsdale had reconvened around them.

"My boy! Look what they done to my boy!" One distressed woman exclaimed, rushing forward to lay claim to the child Daine had rescued. The people surrounding them were muttering angrily, warily, and Daine took a step closer to Numair.

"No one did anything to your son, madam," Numair informed the woman. Daine was surprised to hear a murmur of assent amongst the displeasure of the villagers, and she began to wonder if perhaps a chance of acceptance here remained.

"Aye, and we give you thanks for savin' our village, Master Salmalin," said the man that had been leading the mob earlier, a prestigious farmer that Daine had been surprised not to be able to put a name to. She felt Numair stiffen at her being omitted from the thanks, and despite her own indignation laid a restraining hand on his arm. This did not quite have the effect she had hoped it would, however.

"I was not the one to sense the hurroks coming, nor was I the only one to fight them," he pointed out tersely. Daine supposed that she should be grateful that he had not given a more forceful response.

"No point in being modest," piped up a smooth, female voice, and sure enough Mandaly had pushed herself to the front of the crowd. "We all know was you we owe it all to." Not stopping at the edge of the crowd, the woman drew closer to the pair—or more specifically, Numair. Daine felt the hackles of the wolf in her go up, and she suppressed the urge to growl with each step closer to Numair the woman came. Such instincts would not help the current situation in the slightest.

"It most certainly was not," Numair informed Mandaly and the group surrounding them. "You owe your safety to Daine, whether you will admit it or not."

"Well, whoever it was, I just count myself lucky to have found such a big, strong mage," the woman cooed, sidling ever closer to the "big, strong mage." Daine glared at her with growing hostility—why couldn't Numair have chosen someone she could respect? Numair, for his part, straightened to his full, imposing height.

"Just what are you trying to imply?" he demanded harshly, a sharp contrast to the tone that Daine had heard him taking with the same woman a day earlier.

"Well, you're my man, ain't you?" Mandaly asked innocently. That question was the last straw—Daine had had enough of this woman and her brazen attempts at finding a way into Numair's affections. She could not possibly take any more of this, even if Numair had really chosen her over Daine; at the very least he could find a worthy woman to take her place!

"What claim do you have to Numair?" Daine demanded hotly, shaking with cold and rage. "Who are you to say that he belongs to you? You've known him less than a day, and you think that you have the right to call him yours?"

"It's hardly something I expect a bastard like _you_ to understand," Mandaly informed her disdainfully, and she felt anger threatening to overwhelm her. "In any case, Master Salmalin …made a promise to me. I'll think much less of him if he don't see fit to honor it."

"I did no such thing! I have no interest whatsoever in a dalliance, and certainly not with anyone here," exclaimed the man caught in the middle of this tug-o-war. Daine could almost feel the indignance radiating from him, and her heart was pulled in two directions; she was beginning to accept that she might have been mistaken about him, but Mandaly's claims only served to support her initial suspicions.

"Oh really? That's not what you was sayin' last night," Mandaly drawled, coming to lay a hand on Numair's arm only for him to jerk it away. The blonde woman pouted prettily. "Now is that any way to treat the woman you…spent the night with?"

Daine stood stock still, not believing her ears. She had known all along that Numair had been canoodling with Mandaly, but to hear it put so plainly from the lips of this woman when her own lover couldn't even bring himself to say it… Was it too much to hope that Mandaly wasn't telling the truth?

The tear that escaped Daine's eye and crept down her cheek against her will didn't go unnoticed. Over the jeers of the rest of the crowd, her rival in love smirked infuriatingly. "Oh, poor crazy bastard, did you really think a beast had a chance with him?"

Numair took a stiff step forward, and the Wildmage noticed that he was visibly shaking. Was it from cold or anger? "I do not make a habit of insulting ladies in public, _madam_," he growled, his voice low, "but as you seem not to be able to take a hint I am afraid that I shall have to take drastic steps.

"The first time I met Daine, she saved my life. In the twelve years since then she has done more for Tortall and myself than I can even recount. She is intelligent, beautiful, loyal to a fault, and the most caring person that I have ever met. Next to her you do not even hold a candle, so I suggest that you do not waste more breath than you already have with your petty insinuations."

Daine glanced up at Numair in surprise at this outburst. Could he really have been pretending through that entire speech? Somehow she could not bring herself to believe it, even though her heart warned her that to hope would be to be crushed all over again when she learned the truth.

Mandaly's face had contorted in anger, and she was silent for a moment as she struggled to think of a response appropriate to what she was feeling. Then the Gallan drew herself up haughtily. "_Her_? You led me on just to forsake me for that whore's spawn? And I suppose now you'll deny you ever had anything to do with me!"

"I will deny it because I never _did_ have anything to do with you other than eat the dinner that your most generous sister provided," he informed her coldly, and Daine began to feel the atmosphere around him take a turn for the worse, just as it had when he had become angry with Bayard. The difference this time, however, was that she shared his level of emotion.

"You hear him!" Mandaly cried, addressing the crowd this time. "He takes a woman's honor, then refuses to have anything to do with her! He's no better than that fatherless whelp he claims to love so much!"

There was some conflict amongst those in the crowd, some backing Mandaly, others too afraid to stand against a mage as powerful as this stranger had proved to be, and yet others denied the woman's credibility. But Daine was through with listening to this woman try to sully the reputation of the man she loved, and she wasn't going to stand by and listen to the endless stream of insults against herself.

"If you don't mind, I _have_ met my da," she put in coolly but forcefully, both the passion of the moment and years of anger clouding her better judgment. She found herself the object of innumerable stares; the mystery of her birth had been one long debated by the residents of Snowsdale.

"And he's every bit as low as this excuse for a man, ain't he?" Mandaly demanded scathingly. "He's a foreign beggar not worth the clothes he wears."

"I wouldn't say that too much, if I were you," Daine advised, and couldn't help feeling just a little fulfilled at being able to identify her paternity to these people that had looked down on her for so long—and more than that, at being able to fight back. "He's a foreigner, sure enough, but I'd guess that even you've heard of him. Most places, he calls himself Weiryn."

There was a stunned silence, during which Mandaly looked shocked, the villagers looked alternately stunned and disbelieving, and Daine began to feel like her old self again. She was sick, injured, and tired beyond belief—but as long as she had Numair back and her revenge against Snowsdale, what did it matter?

"Our…our apologies, Magnificence, at not thankin' ya proper-like," said the spokesman hesitantly. It seemed that, for the moment, the village had chosen to accept the truth, even though it was only a matter of time before they began disbelieving it. Daine sighed, all of the energy having been drained out of her.

"Please, don't call me that," she told him tiredly.

"Perhaps," Numair suggested, placing a tender hand on her uninjured shoulder, "you should get some rest."

Daine nodded, relieved, and the crowd parted swiftly before them. The rest of the trek back to the inn was spent in a dream-like state; she didn't even remember putting her head on the pillow.


	10. Chapter 9

A/N: I'm so, so sorry for making you wait so long for this last chapter. I guess you probably don't care that I've been busy out of my mind, but that's why it's taken so long. Still, it's the first multi-chapter piece I've ever finished. I'm a little afraid that I turned Daine into a simpering dolt at the end, but all in all I think it's good. But anyway, I hope that you enjoy the ending!

And if you feel so inclined, you can feel free to check out some of the other stuff I've written.

Chapter 9

In the days following the hurroks' attack, Daine mostly stayed in her room at the inn. Numair remained by her side for the majority of the time she was recovering, from injuries now as well as illness, and on occasion Amily and a few other benevolent people would stop by. From these visits she gleaned that although some people were beginning to question her lineage, fewer still were willing to risk her power or Numair's to cause her trouble.

It was for the best, she supposed, that she had finally faced her past, but she couldn't help but feel that she hadn't really conquered it. It had taken years for her to heal, or at least learn to live with, the wounds that Snowsdale had inflicted on her—and now she had to go through that healing process all over again. In her mind she knew that she was not worthless, that she was respected and loved, but something in her still believed what she had been told so long by the villagers here.

Worse still, she had doubted Numair, and something in her still doubted—not that he had been unfaithful to her, but that he would want to be with someone like her.

As her body recovered, Daine began to feel more and more that if they would just leave Snowsdale, everything would go back to normal, although she was aware that this was silly. Still, when Numair suggested that they go on a walk for a change of scenery, she was more than happy to jump on the idea of leaving the room that was beginning to feel like a prison cell.

They walked in silence through the village, with Numair's protective arm around her waist. As they passed the last houses, Daine began to relax into his embrace. They made small talk as they walked slowly down a frosted path into the forest surrounding the village; Daine told him about the time that she had gotten lost in that same forest because she had been intent on following a mother chipmunk to her nest. By the end of the story, though, she was out of breath, and the two of them brushed the snow off a fallen log so they could sit down.

"How do you feel?" the mage wanted to know, the two of them having avoided the subject of her health for the duration of the walk.

"I'll be feeling much better as soon as we can finally leave here," she informed him stubbornly; they had been over this several times.

"Magelet, I understand that you want to leave Snowsdale behind you as soon as possible," Numair replied with a sad smile that told her he was remembering Carthak, "but we both know that you're not well enough to be on the road again."

Daine crossed her arms over her chest and frowned at her lover. The worst part was that she knew that he knew—to an extent—what she was going through.

"I'm well enough to walk this far, aren't I?" she pointed out, refusing to give it up so easily. "And it's not that far to the next town, and I'll have Cloud."

"Daine…" Numair began frustratedly, but stopped himself as understanding crossed his face. "The past never stays in the past, does it?"

The young woman nodded in agreement. "It's fair strange…If this had been anywhere else in the world, I don't think it would have ever crossed my mind that you weren't being faithful. Here, I can tell myself I'm not mad or fatherless or worthless anymore, but part of me wouldn't blame you if you _did_ want someone else."

"Daine—"

"You deserve someone who trusts you, Numair," she interrupted. "After all these years together, I still leapt on the first chance I had to doubt you. How can I tell myself I'm good enough for you if I'd do something like that?"

Numair took a deep breath, as if steeling himself for something. Daine bit her lip; this was it; he was going to reject her once and for all.

"Daine, I've been meaning to ask you something," he began, "and I should have asked it long ago."

And then he did something entirely unexpected.

Numair got off the log that the two of them had been sitting on, and knelt in the snow in front of her. He took her hands in his large ones, and met her eyes steadily. And then he spoke.

"Veralidaine Sarrasri, would you do me the honor of being my wife?"

The tears that she had been holding back escaped. She hadn't even dared to hope for this, after all that had happened. "But…I'm not—"

"You have done nothing that I can fault you for," he told her solemnly. "If nothing else, _I_ am not worthy of _you_."

Daine sniffled a little, but was more confused than sad. How could she be sad any more? It was an impossibility. "But why? They always said...no respectable man would ever want to marry me."

"Ah, but you forget, Magelet," Numair told her, an impish grin crossing his face. "I'm no respectable man." Daine laughed and embraced him, still puzzled as to why he would want her of all people, but ready to accept it as a question she might never know the answer to.

"Am I to take that as a yes?" he wanted to know, smiling childishly. Daine laughed again and kissed him for her answer. When they were done, both were breathless. "I suppose so," Numair answered his own question.

"Now, we'll need to pack," he informed her. Daine found herself being picked up, and squeaked in surprise. "After all, we'll want to tell Jon and Alanna and Onua the good news in person."

Daine just smiled and snuggled happily into the mage's chest. Perhaps something good had come of going to Snowsdale after all.

The End...

...For Now


End file.
